


my cathedral is a valley (angels are soldiers of god)

by Metronomeblue



Category: Dominion (TV), Legion (2010)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Western, Alternate Universe- Still Angels, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, This may/may not become a long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronomeblue/pseuds/Metronomeblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Western AU</p>
<p>Alex wakes up with no memories in a canyon. He goes to the nearest town only to find that angels exist, he's now in a position of authority, and the world might, in fact, be ending. Everything goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. desert

**Author's Note:**

> So I just found this in a folder today and...

Alex Lannon went to sleep on a pallet made of plywood, covered with a blanket thinner than the innkeeper's attempt to cover his disdain.

He woke in a canyon, facedown in the sand. It was a canyon, he knew, because of the sheer rock face about ten feet from his aching nose. A breeze stirred above him, and a strand of brittle yellow hair flopped down to lie over his dusty cheek. He didn't remember it being long enough to do that. Last town he'd been in he'd paid half-fare for a man to hack al of it off. He clenched his hands, feeling the sand seep from between his fingers. Alex breathed in the dust, letting it scrape his lungs raw. It didn't matter how much rock was around you in the desert; there was probably more of it in you than out. He shook his head, wiping the grit from his nose and mouth and rising to a crouch. The blood on his hand was from his nose, gritty from the sand that had blown into the cut. Judging by where the pain was coming from, Alex was willing to guess he had a broken nose with a cut across the bridge. He'd been here before. A jingle and a clank made him pause, trying to remember what the sound should be telling him. He turned away, scanning the stone for some way, any way out, and then something flashed.

It was the glint on the ground, the shine of dusty brass against a rock, that caught his eye.

He picks it up, and it's warm from being pressed between the hot sand and his chest. He stares, face wrinkled in confusion. There's a star with his name on it, but Alex knows the men who wear stars and there's no way he'd ever be one.

Except apparently, now he is.


	2. dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire

Because you see, this story doesn't begin at the bottom of a canyon. It doesn't begin on a plywood pallet in the middle of Nevada. It begins on a three-acre plot of barren "farmland" issued to a family of three. General Edward Riesen had made his reputation fighting in the Mexican-American war, during which his beloved wife had died of tuberculosis. In sympathy and faked solidarity, he and his daughter Claire were then given a plot of land in Nevada under the guise of a reward. On the train there, her father had spoken of a new start, a new land to the west where you could be and do whatever you wanted. At the time, an eight-year-old Claire was quite certain this meant she could be a dryad.

Thirteen years later, she began considering outlaw instead.

She was a teacher, and she enjoyed it. To a point, that is, because one can only do so much to calm ten-year-olds down, and the alphabet got a little boring after the third year. Matter of fact, everything got a little boring in Vega. Claire spent a great deal of her off-time dreaming of wind-swept plains and rugged stone outcroppings, and a greater majority of that time painting her visions.

In the end, it was only due to the grace of God that Edward Riesen didn't throw his daughter to the coyotes years ago. Or, perhaps more accurately, the grace of the singular Alex Lannon and his accompanying D'artagnan in the form of William Whele. Without the two of them, Claire would probably have driven her father entirely insane by the age of ten.

Of course, with them, she did so at the age of twelve, so really he had only bought himself two years.


End file.
